And apparently, ugly bowls.
He leans back, watching me. “You’re different.”
“Good different or concerning different?”
“Peaceful.”
I consider that. “Yeah.”
It’s true. For the first time in years, my nervous system isn’t in constant alert mode. No media storms. No secrets. No pretending.
No fear that the person I love most in the world will disappear because I wasn’t brave enough.
I reach for his hand automatically, and he threads our fingers together.
We sit this way for a moment, quiet.
“My mom tried again,” I say finally.
His body stills. “When?”
“Yesterday. Through Lindy.”
His eyes narrow. “What did she want?”
“Not me.”
That earns a small, humorless huff from him.
“She asked if Lindy could give her my number,” I continue. “Lindy said no.”
“Good.”
“She didn’t push. She won’t,” I say. “She knows better. It’s about my dad’s company.”
He rolls his eyes.
“There’s a new governor. Very progressive. Publicly supportive of migrants and LGBTQ rights. Mom seems to think reconnecting might improve their… optics.” The word tastes bitter.
Rafe’s expression goes cold in a way that still surprises people who don’t know him well. “Did you tell Lindy no?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
I turn toward him. “I’m not interested in being anyone’s redemption arc.”
His eyes meet mine, steady and fierce. “You don’t have to be.”
“I know.”
We sit with that for a moment. The absence of guilt is new. The clarity even newer.
“I’m proud of you,” he says quietly.
“For what?”
“For choosing yourself.”